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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376243">There's Something About Father Lightwood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhixxie/pseuds/nhixxie'>nhixxie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kinktober 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shadowhunters (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Demon Magnus Bane, M/M, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Priest Alec Lightwood, Rough Sex, You guys I'm an upstanding member of society I just really really REALLY LIKE THIS KINK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:08:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhixxie/pseuds/nhixxie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec gasps in pain as sharp nails presses into his cheeks. He plants his hands against the pew in an attempt to support his weight.</p><p>“But deliver us from evil,” the man who is not of man drawls, “Amen.”</p><p>Alec finally opens his eyes. A face all too familiar greets him as he does; golden, predatory eyes tracking every hitch of Alec’s breathing.</p><p>“Still praying to a God who never answers,” the creature hums, “You disappoint me, Father.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kinktober 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>271</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>There's Something About Father Lightwood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my super late, super blasphemous Kinktober closer! The last prompt I wanted to fill is priest kink, which is truly one of my favorites. If you are a hardcore Catholic, this is NOT FOR YOU, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. Click out, save yourself. I will not entertain any purity policing if this squicks or disgusts you, thank you! </p><p>I've been long detached from Catholicism, but I did go to a Catholic School and is semi-practicing still due to familial pressure, so if there are things that doesn't make sense, I ask you to suspend disbelief, lmao. This is creepy altar fuck fic, plain and simple. I'm not looking to educate anyone here ;)</p><p>Anyways! If you are still interested, I'm @nhixxie on Twitter and follow #nhixxiefic for live-tweeting purposes.<br/>Hope you enjoy!</p><p>- Nhixxie</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A moment, Cardinal.”</p><p>Alec pauses, his gaze lowering onto the hands of the man he shares a table with. He watches as the man’s thumbs skitter across the screen of his phone. Beside Alec, Sister Helena takes a sip of coffee, unamused.</p><p>Alec runs his thumb across the curved handle of his mug. “You seem busy, Mr. Aldertree,” he says, “Should I reschedule?”</p><p>Victor Aldertree waves Alec’s sentiment away, still looking at his phone with a furrowed brow. “Nonsense, Cardinal Lightwood. Give me a second and I will be right with you.”</p><p>Alec receives a pointed look from the nun beside him. Alec tries to school his features; instead, he leans back into his chair and takes a sip of his drink. He watches as Manhattan moves around him, unyielding in its endless waves of noisy activity. He humbly shakes the hand of the seventh person to approach him, whispering a small prayer for her as she kisses the ring on the back of his hand in reverence. Across from him, Victor Aldertree is arguing with someone on the phone. Sister Helena looks as if she could scold Victor back into business school.</p><p>It’s when a child toddles towards him that Alec rises to his feet and lowers himself onto his knees. The boy reaches out and grasps the fabric of Alec’s cassock, eyes wide as he feels the texture in his small fingers. Alec grins.</p><p>“You like it?” Alec asks, and the boy nods, grasping more of his cassock with his other hand.</p><p>“<i>Angelito, regresa a mí,</i>” the boy’s mother whispers from afar, “<i>No molestes al cardenal.</i>”</p><p>“<i>¿Está bien, señora?</i>” Alec says with a smile, “<i>No estoy haciendo nada importante.</i>”</p><p>Alec takes his cardinal’s hat off and places it on the boy’s head. “You keep it,” he says with a wink, “It looks better on you than on me.”</p><p>The boy grins happily, patting the zucchetto on his head as if to check if it’s there. He runs back to his mother, giggling loudly as he is swept into her arms. The woman gives him an appreciative smile before crossing the street. Alec waves them as they disappear into the stream of New Yorkers going about their day.</p><p>“Why are you kneeling on the pavement, Cardinal?”</p><p>Alec laughs under his breath. He stands up and brushes gravel off his knees. “Mr. Aldertree, I’m not presiding over your wedding.”</p><p>Victor’s jaw grows slack as he scrambles onto his feet. “Wait a minute—”</p><p>Alec cuts Victor off. “There are many priests in the Archdiocese of New York that can fulfill the sacrament of matrimony for you and your fiancée.”</p><p>“Why not you?” Victor presses, which Alec returns with a shrug.</p><p>“I don’t think you’re a very nice person, Mr. Aldertree,” Alec says simply as he rises to his feet, “Sister Helena has been with me since we started, did you even notice?”</p><p>“You need to do it!” Victor demands, trailing Alec from behind, “The richest and most powerful people in New York will be attending, I can’t have just any other priest officiate my wedding—”</p><p>Alec and Helena start their short trek back to the cathedral. “Good day, Mr. Aldertree.”</p><p>Victor plants his feet onto the pavement and sneers, “I am the biggest single donor to St. Patrick’s! Where will you get funding for your outreach projects and feeding programs if I pulled my money from your church?!”</p><p>Alec turns around. Victor sputters to a stop, blinking furiously as the cardinal takes a few strides back, the hem of his cassock billowing against his feet. When Alec is finally out of Helena’s earshot, he speaks quietly.</p><p>“I may just be a servant of the Lord, Mr. Aldertree,” he says, “But I do not appreciate threats as much as the next person.”</p><p>Alec leans forward, sighing softly. “Especially when you <i>so dearly</i> appreciate the openness afforded to you by my confessional booth.”</p><p>Victor’s jaw grows slack, appalled. “Are you threatening me, Cardinal?”</p><p>The words pull a languid smile over Alec’s lips. “Victor, what kind of archbishop am I if I cannot protect my people?”</p><p>With a small pat on Victor’s arm, Alec says, “Until your next confession.”</p><p>Victor Aldertree watches as Alec Lightwood walks away, his black cassock standing out starkly against the crowd.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>There’s something about Father Lightwood</i> is the mutterings behind closed doors and cathedral halls.</p><p><i>Something different</i>, his priests say. Maybe his days in the army before heeding the Lord’s call gave him perspective on suffering no other priest has. After all, a priest in his thirties does not ascend into cardinalship without bearing something special in his soul.</p><p><i>No, not different—something invigorating</i>, his parishioners say. His kindness reverberates. Everybody knows who Cardinal Lightwood is. What precious time he has away from the altar he spends in the community, making sure the programs that rely on the church are running smoothly. On weekdays, he is at the frontlines of the very feeding program he helped establish. On weekends, he is at Harlow House, fixing groaning pipes and leaky spots on the roof for the women who seek shelter there. <i>I don’t know what we’ll do without you, Father Lightwood</i>, Leilani would always say. She would always send him off with a cup of coffee.</p><p>“Should I tell Jeremiah you’ll be taking an hour for personal prayer?” Sister Helena asks.</p><p>Alec answers as he shrugs off the short cape that sits over his shoulders, “If you don’t mind, sister.”</p><p>The nun sighs. “Our blessed pope in his death bed. May he have a pleasant journey to the gates of heaven. And may your mind be enlightened, Father,” she adds, “Choosing St. Peter’s next successor.. I doubt it’s an easy decision to make.”</p><p>“It never is, Sister. Maybe this hour of prayer will give some illumination,” Alec murmurs, folding the scarlet sash and placing it carefully onto the closet shelf. “Good night, Sister. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>When Alec turns to leave, Sister Helena remains rooted in her spot. She holds her hands together, her nailbeds blanching at the force.</p><p>“Father, are you sure you don’t want to use the high altar?” she asks, “Where Jeremiah and I could easily see you? I could stay behind and be in prayer, far away as to still give you your privacy—”</p><p>Alec smiles. “I’ll be alright, Sister.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>Alec places a hand over her shoulder, firm and steady.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p><i>There’s something about Father Lightwood</i>, people say under their breaths and behind hands cupped over curious ears.</p><p>And only Sister Helena, who watches helplessly as Alec slips through the door of the sacristy, knows exactly what that something is.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, Alec dreams of thunderous rain and lightning splitting a blood-red sky in half.</p><p>He sees it all through the stained-glass window of the first church he has ever taken care of, the sound of thunder barely echoing within the small structure. The wind, however, whistles through the small cracks under the door. That has always been the problem with Immaculate Heart of Mary during winter. Just as its namesake welcomed the angel Gabriel’s visitation, the church always allowed in the merciless cold.</p><p>In these dreams, Alec is always looking down. He can feel the crossed beams beneath him, and the sting of two wounds on the wells of his palms. He feels splitting pain in his sides battling the aching of the wounds in his feet for dominance.</p><p>Then, he hears the metallic clattering of three loosened nails against the stone floors. He descends as if a gentle wind carries him onto the ground. He alights into the arms of something he cannot see.</p><p>And then, with a whisper in his ear, Alec awakens.</p><p>
  <i>Son of Man, I will always find you.</i>
</p><p>Alec has come to know what those words - muttered in his ears in half-dreams and lucid realities - truly mean.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Alec opens the copper doors of the cathedral’s crypt.</p><p>The crypt, built beneath the marble flooring and hidden from the public eye, is a dimly-lit marbled hallway that entombs past bishops that served the archdiocese of New York. Very few have been given the privilege to step foot in such hallowed ground. Alec makes the sign of the cross and murmurs a solemn prayer for his deceased predecessors.</p><p>Alongside a prayer, he gives his apology.</p><p>Alec concludes the short benediction with another sign of the cross and continues his walk deeper into the hallway. Statues of miraculous saints line the path to his destination, their glass eyes bearing witness to a procession he has made many times before. Do they mourn, Alec wonders? Do they cry scarlet rivulets from their bloody eyes at the desecration that is to occur, yet again, behind their sacred walls?</p><p>A statue of Jesus Christ stands in front of the entrance the Alec needs to breech. The Son of God looks down upon Alec, anguishing in his wounds of crucifixion or the sins of the shepherd that stands before him, Alec doesn’t know. He stands guard at the gate, pleading; <i>turn back</i>. Alec spiritlessly kisses the Lord’s bleeding feet - <i>I’m sorry</i> - and passes through.</p><p>Alec descends upon a short flight of stairs, one that bottlenecks into a painfully narrow hallway, until it terminates into a door made of aged walnut. The door creaks under Alec’s touch as he opens and closes it behind him.</p><p>Alec hears nothing but the exhale that flutters out of his lips.</p><p>A small altar with a singular, short pew is barely illuminated by old, incandescent bulbs. The ornate, wooden altar seems to bloom before Alec’s eyes as he takes in the intricate carvings that sweep across its façade. Detailed portraits of The Holy Trinity are framed within it, its colors dulled by time. A golden crucifix stands in its center, gleaming under the bleak light.</p><p>Alec lowers himself onto the pew, his knees kissing the thinning cushion. He closes his eyes and presses his tightly clasped hands against his lips. With a sign of the cross, he begins to pray.</p><p> “Our Father who art in heaven,” Alec whispers, “Hallowed be thy name, your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”</p><p>For a moment, there is nothing. That is until a languid touch brushes against Alec’s shoulder.</p><p><i><b>Give us this day our daily bread</b></i>, a deep voice rumbles, an earthquake beneath Alec’s knees, <i><b>and forgive those who have trespassed against us</b></i>.</p><p>The disembodied voice laughs as a firm grasp around Alec’s jaw raises him off his knees. <i><b>And lead us not into temptation</b></i>, the voice says with disgust.</p><p>Alec gasps in pain as sharp nails presses into his cheeks. He plants his hands against the pew in an attempt to support his weight.</p><p>“But deliver us from evil,” the man who is not of man drawls, “Amen.”</p><p>Alec finally opens his eyes. A face all too familiar greets him as he does; golden, predatory eyes tracking every hitch of Alec’s breathing.</p><p>“Still praying to a God who never answers,” the creature hums, “You disappoint me, Cardinal.”</p><p>The demon, as steeped in darkness as he is, is beautiful. Alec has always known him to be beautiful. Alec supposes a fallen angel keeping his beauty is the harshest reminder of the life his own evilness took away from himself. To be beautiful in the ugliest place in the universe - it must be sad.</p><p>Alec gnashes his teeth as a sharp nail scratches down his jaw. “Not as much as I disappoint myself in seeking you.” He hisses.</p><p>The creature angles his head in mock musing. “Why have you sought me today?”</p><p>Alec grapples against the grip on his face, his fingers curling against the creature’s wrist. He grits out, “Give me the papacy.”</p><p>The creature barks a harsh laugh, one that makes Alec burn in embarrassment. “Alec Lightwood. The man who makes deals with the devil,” he muses, “Standing on the highest pedestal afforded by the church. How painfully <i>delicious</i>.”</p><p>Alec refuses to indulge the creature in his games. Instead, he snaps, “Will you take my offer or not?”</p><p>The creature merely smirks at Alec’s impatience. Instead, he sighs, “What do you offer in return?”</p><p>“Do I need to say it if you already know?” Alec mutters.</p><p>The creature grins slowly, an act that shudders Alec’s very bones as he is lowered to gaze into a pair of golden eyes.</p><p>“I want you to say it,” the creature whispers, “I want God to hear how corrupted his most favored creation is. I want him to hear his beloved priest <i>beg</i>.”</p><p>The creature trails his warm lips against Alec’s cheek until it barely rests against the shell of his ear. A bolt of lightning thunderclaps through Alec’s spine, pooling warmth within his stomach.</p><p>“Pray to me,” he commands.</p><p>Alec swallows the thickness in his throat. He shakily rises from the pew and slowly backs himself against the edge of the small altar. The creature follows silently, his grip still tight along the line of Alec’s jaw.</p><p>“Oh, Fallen One,” he breathes out, knees shaking, “Star of the morning, cast down into hell. I am but a sacrificial lamb, a body engulfed in flames, offered in exaltation of your holiness.”</p><p>The creature pushes Alec onto the altar, forcing his knees apart. He murmurs as he presses into Alec, “Go on.”</p><p>An exhale stumbles off the ledge of Alec’s lips as the creature noses teasing lines into his neck, mouth following the path the has been laid. His eyes flutter close as he mumbles, “I offer you my soul.”</p><p>The creature rolls his hips against Alec’s, whispering, “I’ve long owned your soul, Cardinal. In ways even you cannot even fathom.”</p><p>“Then my body,” Alec swallows, “That’ll all I have, Magnus.”</p><p>The creature – Magnus – laughs quietly into Alec’s skin, his breaths fanning warmly across Alec’s neck. Where Magnus previously kisses, he bites down hard enough to draw blood. Alec cries out in pain as he wrenches away from Magnus, but he is culled forcefully by the small of his back.</p><p>“How you lie,” Magnus accuses, his words stinging like whiplash.</p><p>Alec grunts as he is wrestled onto his stomach, pressed against the altar by a heavy pressure on the nape of his neck. He hears the rustling of fabric as his cassock is tossed over his back, exposing the black trousers that lay underneath. He stubbornly stifles the moan that threatens to spill from his lips when Magnus thrusts forcefully against his clothed ass, a promise of what is to come. Alec grasps at the altar instead, his fingernails catching at the wood grain.</p><p>Magnus easily rips apart the fabric of Alec’s trousers until its tattered remnants pools around Alec’s ankles. Alec’s boxers are wrenched off him with equal force, and for a moment Magnus stands back as if to savor the sight.</p><p>A shepherd of the Lord presented before Magnus, a shaking lamb spread upon the altar, ready for slaughter. Alec could feel Magnus positively moaning in pleasure.</p><p>Magnus presses against Alec once again, willing oil to glisten the length of his fingers. With no preamble, he presses into Alec’s hole, breaching the tight ring of muscle. Alec’s jaw grows slack, a quiet, barely-there groan slipping past the guard of his lips as Magnus fucks him with his fingers.</p><p>“Pray,” Magnus commands yet again, “Pray to your God and see if he finally answers.”</p><p>Alec keens, temple pressed against the altar as he crumples against himself. He gasps quietly against the small, wooden table, and when Magnus sees this, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. He threads his free hand through Alec’s hair and pulls, forcing his gaze upon the mournful portraits of the Father, the Son, and The Holy Ghost.</p><p>“<i>Pray</i>,” Magnus hisses as Alec gasps beneath his touch, Magnus’ fingers pressing firmly onto his prostate. Alec’s back arches off the altar as Magnus presses yet again, an indecent moan blessing the prayer room’s aged walls.</p><p>“O Holy Father,” Alec trembles, arms shaking against his own weight, “Shed your holy light upon—<i>ah, please</i>..”</p><p>Magnus slips a third finger in, and the stretch it creates shatters Alec’s resolve as he minutely rolls his hips against the edge of the altar. The devil must know pity, because Magnus finally releases his hold upon Alec’s hair and instead curls oil-slicked fingers around his heavy cock, pumping along the length languidly.</p><p>“I can’t hear you, Cardinal,” Magnus whispers in Alec’s ear, thumb sitting at Alec’s cock slit, giving it a painfully slow flick that makes Alec's knees buckle.</p><p>“Upon your children, O Lord,” Alec stutters, “May you guide us—<i>ah</i>—through the trials and tribulations of our earthly lives—<i>oh god, please</i>—”</p><p>Magnus drapes himself over Alec, a looming shadow over his shoulder. “Is it God who fucks you today, Father?” he asks, and Alec only shakes his head, “Then ask again.”</p><p>“Please,” Alec swallows, “Magnus.”</p><p>Magnus peels himself off the plane of Alec’s back, his hands abandoning Alec’s loosened rim and weeping cock as they take their place at the dips of Alec’s waist. Alec trembles in silent anticipation, the air in his lungs coming in and out in small pants until it is divested of him fully as Magnus pushes into him. Alec shudders a shameless moan as Magnus buries into him down to the very hilt, the warmth of his tight sac pressed against the back of Alec’s thighs.</p><p>“<i>F-fuck</i>,” Alec gasps as Magnus rolls into him in a small thrust.</p><p>“Language, Father,” Magnus almost smirks, but barely. He doesn’t give Alec an inch of a smile, even ones that hold condescension.</p><p>“<i>Please</i>,” Alec begs, his voice hoarse, “<i>Please..</i>”</p><p>Unlike God, Magnus answers Alec’s pleas with enthusiasm. Magnus withdraws to the point of complete unsheathing and slams back into Alec, sinking into his ass as deep as he could. Alec cries out in utter pleasure as Magnus brushes his cockhead against his prostate, and then again when Magnus begins to thrust into Alec in a steady rhythm.</p><p>Magnus fucks Alec into complete submission, reducing him into pleasured cries and wanton moans before the eyes of the God he has chosen to serve. Magnus' body undulates like the great walls of fire that lick upon the landscape of hell, and he relishes Alec’s shameless moans the same way he relishes the screams of burning souls.</p><p>And in the deepest part of Alec's heart, he knows well that he relishes this too.</p><p>Magnus culls Alec within his arms, their bodies parallel and pressed tightly against each other. Magnus fucks into Alec's warmth as if to chase away the years between this meeting and the last. He remembers the sight of Alec bound to an empty cross, his body glistening with sweat under the flickering light; it makes Magnus groan with want, the steadiness of his fucking faltering. Magnus presses his mouth against Alec’s ear yet again.</p><p>“When you were dying in the desert with a bullet in your leg,” Magnus whispers harshly as he thrusts forcefully into Alec, “Who answered you?”</p><p>“Y-you did,” Alec gasps, brow furrowed, jaw slack.</p><p>“At your moment of deepest desperation, at the edge of the cliff, praying to God for a sign,” Magnus continues under his breath, “Who answered you?”</p><p>“You, <i>fuck, right there</i>..”</p><p>Magnus buries his face against the crook of Alec’s neck, now fucking into Alec with wild abandon. Alec cries out helplessly, fisting his weeping cock as he jerks himself off urgently with every punch of Magnus’ head against his prostate.</p><p>Magnus pants, “When you longed for the priesthood, prayed for the sick to be healed, the poor to be fed, the abused to be saved.. when you asked for the cardinalship to protect your church from an abusive priest,”</p><p>Alec sobs into the altar, “<i>Fuck, please, I’m so close—</i>”</p><p>“When you ask for <i>anything in the world</i>,” Magnus nearly implores, voice cracking, “Who answers you, Alexander?”</p><p>At the sound of his name formed around Magnus lips, Alec comes in thin ropes of pearl-white. He pants, air huffing out of his mouth in the form of Magnus’ name, a first in their long history. In the haze of his pleasure, Alec says it again, <i>Magnus</i>, tenderly. Alec looks back at Magnus whose golden gaze has softened at the realization.</p><p>Cautiously, Alec pushes himself off the altar. He turns to face Magnus.</p><p>He looks pristine like this, Alec thinks, in his ink-blot black suit and shiny shoes. The only crack in the façade is Magnus reddened cock hanging out of his pants, pearling at the slit. Alec’s shaking fingers curl against the lapels of Magnus’ jacket as he tugs Magnus down onto the floor, his back propped against the leg of the table.</p><p>Magnus watches, with a softness that seems misplaced, as Alec kicks away the torn remnants of his clothing along with the shoes on his feet. Alec lowers himself onto Magnus’ lap, guiding Magnus’ cock within him with a soft groan. Once he has engulfed Magnus whole, Alec gazes into Magnus' golden eyes and rocks gently.</p><p>“Alexander,” Magnus breathes, the singular word settling deeply into Alec’s chest. Magnus encircles Alec within the cradle of his arms, thrusting up into him as Alec rides his cock faster.</p><p><i>Magnus</i>, Alec murmurs repeatedly, a responsorial psalm to the verses of Magnus’ moans, <i>Magnus, Magnus, Magnus..</i></p><p>It is by the touch of Alec’s mouth against Magnus jaw and the litany of Magnus’ name from Alec’s tongue that Magnus comes. He rides out his orgasm with Alec warm and trembling around him. Alec accepts Magnus’ come like the body of Christ on his tongue, like baptismal oil smeared across his forehead.</p><p>“I cannot follow you within the walls of the Vatican,” Magnus finally says.</p><p>Alec looks down upon Magnus, The Fallen One, The Morning Star. He looks neither angel nor demon. In his mourning, he looks human.</p><p>“If I give you the papacy, Alexander,” Magnus whispers brokenly, “I can never see you again.”</p><p>Alec gazes upon Magnus, forlorn. “The church needs to change, Magnus. I need to change it.”</p><p>“Must you really?” Magnus tries to taunt, but couldn’t find it in himself. The corner of his mouth upturns the slightest.</p><p>Alec smiles softly. “We’ve known each other for long enough to know that I must.”</p><p>Magnus, just as he has countless times before when it comes to Alexander Lightwood, acquiesces. He tries to guide Alec off him when Alec bears his weight down, pinning Magnus onto the floor.</p><p>“Don’t leave,” Alec commands, his hand to Magnus’ chest. The tremor in Alec’s hand betrays his heart. “Please. Not yet.”</p><p>Magnus nearly smiles. He reaches for Alec’s clerical collar and takes it off, thumb smudging something invisible on Alec's cheek. Alec can't help but seek Magnus' touch, nosing into his open palm.</p><p>Magnus shakes his head. “When have I ever found the courage to say no to you, Alexander?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Within the murals of Michelangelo upon the Sistine Chapel, the scribbling of pens against cream-colored cardstock is the only sound that could be heard. This would be the third vote today. It has been seven days.</p><p>Outside, Saint Peter’s Square is filled to the brim with spectators. They’ve all chosen to brave the rain that drops heavy splatters against opened umbrellas and plastic raincoats. They all watch a chimney by the right-hand side of the basilica. There are many children. Many of them sit atop their parent’s shoulders.</p><p>The cardinals deposit their ballots.</p><p>The ministers count them, announcing every vote as they go.</p><p>They thread counted ballots through a long piece of scarlet string.</p><p><i>Why did you answer my prayer, that day in the desert?</i> Alec remembers asking Magnus on their last night together. Magnus runs the pad of his thumb across Alec’s mouth, lost in the memory.</p><p><i>I was meant to meet you in the desert, one way or another</i>, Magnus murmurs, <i>I meant to tempt you into sin.</i></p><p><i>But you saved me instead</i>, Alec says.</p><p><i>I saved you instead</i>, Magnus hums.</p><p><i>I will always call upon you, Magnus</i>, Alec whispers, <i>even if you don’t hear me. Even if you don’t answer. Everything that is me is yours.</i></p><p>Magnus draws Alec against him, pressing a chaste kiss onto Alec’s lips. It’s Alec deepens it desperately, tongue coaxing Magnus’ from the cave of his mouth. The irony of it all isn’t lost to Alec. Magnus lets their lips falter apart.</p><p><i>Change the world then</i>, Magnus says, <i>I will see you on your deathbed.</i></p><p>Alec sweeps his thumb across Magnus’ cheek. <i>See you on my deathbed.</i></p><p>Loud applause swells around Alec as he blinks at his surroundings. The older cardinals around him, reminiscent of the church’s old, unbending ways, clap at him in congratulation. He is ushered down the steps, out of the Sistine Chapel, and into the basilica’s ornate sacristy.</p><p>Outside, the chimney puffs out white smoke.</p><p>The Catholic church has a new pope.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>New York bursts into joyous celebration.</p><p>St. Patrick’s Cathedral is filled with buzzing excitement as one of their own is elevated into the highest seat of the Vatican. </p><p>Young, kind, determined Cardinal Alexander Lightwood. Now, Pope Pius XIII.</p><p>Sister Helena makes the sign of the cross and kisses her rosary. She murmurs a quick prayer to the new pope, blessing him with the enlightenment of the Holy Spirit.</p><p><i>Truly</i>, she thinks, <i>there’s something about Father Lightwood.</i></p>
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